


Heated

by muffinpolice (M4DN377orF8)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cussing, Domestic Violence, Heterosexual Sex, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Internalized Homophobia, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Religious Castiel, Religious Conflict, Rough Sex, Sex in the Impala, Underage Sex, badboy!Dean, the word cunt is used once just fyi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-28 02:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M4DN377orF8/pseuds/muffinpolice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a lost lamb and Castiel intends to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Fill for the September SPNkink-Meme 

HEATED: Part 1 

Damn he is sick of this. And not just of the Principal’s office which he is currently slouching inside. No, Dean Winchester is sick of the whole damn big picture: school, grades, expectations… **life**. Yet here he is, spacing through yet another lecture by Father Callaghan, making this—what—the third one in a two month period? He remembers the first time being about the explicative ‘faggot’ drawn all over his textbooks and binders (not that Dean had put them there). The second time was right before he got suspended for losing his temper and chucking a stapler through the window of the music room. Presently, this lecture is also about Dean’s ‘anger issues’ and that ‘although he wasn’t on school property when it happened, getting into fights was unacceptable’. He has been coming to school with his eye blackened and lip split, so ultimately the conversation surmounts to that fact that Dean is an eyesore to his fellow peers. After all, at St. Barnabus Episcopalian School, all students are expected to maintain and glorify their school’s pristine reputation. They are all here to educate themselves, to worship, and to make God proud.

Fuck this really is getting old.

To placate himself, Dean mentally replaces the word ‘pray’ every time it comes out of the Father’s mouth with the appropriate conjugation of fuck.

“You should reflect and fuck more, Dean.”  
“I see you fucking less and less, and I’m becoming concerned.”  
“Maybe if you fucked harder, more devotedly, your head would clear.”  
“I just know that fucking will help keep you out of trouble.”  
“You understand that we have a daily fuck group after school if you don’t want to do it alone…”

The game is helping his mood because it's all Dean can do not to snort. But the little heart-to-heart ends shortly after that and Father Callaghan is reaching his hands across the desk palm-up for the teen to take.

“Let us pray.”

Dean does not replace the word this time.  
\--

There is something incredibly monotonous about religion. The repeated hymns, the recycled proverbs, and the same endless message of what is good and what is bad. Mix in several profits, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Communion and that is the recipe for pretty much every chapel day ever.

Dean’s pew is instructed to stand from their kneeling position and enter the main aisle. As he waits there bored out of his skull, his massive baby brother looms behind him (it was so unfair that Sam is younger but still taller than him). He's nervously tucking his long hair behind his ears and straightening his tie. There have been many other days Dean teased his brother relentlessly about his pre-Communion primping habits. Turns out, today would not be an exception.

“There aren’t any chick Acolytes, so who are you trying to look pretty for?”

Sam makes an indignant sound in his throat and pokes Dean in the back of the neck.

“Some of us take Communion seriously,” he whispers, loud enough to be heard over the organ music.

A girl gets up from the bench before the altar to the right, signing the cross and blessing herself. She moves away back down a side aisle to return to her seat, which means it's Dean’s turn. Determined to get it over with quickly, he drops down onto the bench cushion that is still warm from all the kids who had knelt there before him. He doesn’t cross himself as the others had but still holds his palm out for a wafer. One of the two Acolytes assisting with the Communion wanders over to him, saying the blessing and placing a wafer into his waiting palm. Dean pinches it and waits for the next Acolyte to come with the wine. This is the one worth looking up from the wood floors for, because this one is none other than Father Callaghan's uptight little nephew.

And there he is, Castiel Callaghan, walking towards Dean steadily and bracing a wine cup with white linen. Framed by the gold plated Tabernacle behind him, the boy looks truly angelic. The sun that shown through the stained glass casts pretty hues of blue, red, and gold across his alabaster skin. Then there is the light from the candles burning around the altar that catches the cobalt blue of his eyes, giving them a golden twinkle as he moves carefully around the pulpit. That same light has also brought out the warmer shades of brown in his seemingly black hair, which he combed meticulously into perfection, not a strand out of place.

Although this is Castiel’s freshman year, he had more or less taken the school over. Dean is probably looking at a future Barnabus Valedictorian because this kid’s grades are out of this world. He tutors the upperclassmen for ‘crissakes. There is also the fact he is in the coveted Acolyte position at age fourteen to consider, and Dean has a feeling a nepotism had nothing to do with it. The kid’s intense religious dedication makes Sam’s practices look lazy. Simply put, the quiet grace Castiel holds about his person spoke of a maturity, patience, and a charisma that were beyond his years. But despite his delicate face and developed personality, Castiel still has some imperfections. Namely, he's a douchebag. At least, he has always been one to Dean. It could have something to do with the fact that Dean Winchester embodies everything Castiel stands against; from sexual immoralities, to social degradation, to his quick-temper and nonexistent spirituality. And maybe that Dean is also about to turn seventeen but is still in the same grade as Castiel plays a role in his judgment too. But so what if he had been held back a couple of times?

Dean lifts his green eyes once more to leer at the dark haired teen in his Acolyte garb. The attire isn’t particularly clingy or sexy—he just does this because he knows how Castiel cringes under his gaze when he makes bedroom eyes at him. The idea that he can get under kid’s skin and break his calm demeanor—fracture that perfect façade—pleases Dean to no end. And he’s not disappointed when Castiel’s eyes turn to meet his and a shudder shakes his lithe form. Immediately, blue eyes narrow to danger levels and he lifts his chin, scowling.

_Yeah, go ahead and glare at me you little bitch…_

Dean offers Castiel his best shit-eating grin from the bench.

Looking as though it takes a great effort to do so, the boy approaches and removes the wafer from Dean’s hand.

“This is the blood of Christ…shed for you,” he murmurs, dipping the wafer into the cup.

Dean parts his lips to receive the offering and when the wine soaked wafer is about to be placed in his mouth, he quickly swipes the tip of his tongue over Castiel’s thumb. The boy jerks, dropping the Sacrament. He looks utterly aghast seeing it on the floor. As his face drains of color, Dean tosses a saucy wink at him, crosses himself and leaves the bench. He’s returning to his seat when he sneaks a glance back and observes an alarming shade of red creeping all the way down Castiel’s neck.  
\--

 

A week and a half later, Dean finds himself in the supply shed on the north side of the kickball field.  
There was no better way to be skipping his P.E. class than this.

He plunges back inside Anna and allows a content sigh rumble out from his throat. She squirms on the blue safety mat below him, moaning. For all the good youth group girl she claimed to be, Dean is still getting to ride her ass from behind during her free block, using the lube **she brought from home**. Somehow, she has it in her head that it doesn’t count as losing her virginity if she takes it up the butt instead of her pussy, and Dean is letting her believe whatever she needs to, because this feels amazing.

Her plump, warm cheeks greet him every time he slides his dick back inside her and it's enough to make his toes curl. Dean keeps his hands on her hips, guiding her back at a steady pace, enjoying the tinkling sounds her earrings make with each slap their skin. It isn’t until he hears the door to the storage shed sliding open that he wonders if this is the best location to be screwing a senior girl senseless, especially since the class he is currently skipping is in session only a few hundred feet away.

The door goes unnoticed by Anna who keeps moving, and Dean lets her, peering over his shoulder to see what this interruption would bring. If it is his P.E. coach or Father Callaghan, they are both done and can count themselves expelled. Not that it would bother Dean any if that happened, but he would feel a little bad for Anna. If it's that boy from the junior class with the black glasses and frosted hair, Dean knows they’ll be getting a third party joiner and thus, doubling the fun. But if it's any of the girls from any grade level, he could expect a shriek and several weeks of hushed whispers; perhaps another in-school suspension if the rumors spread far enough. But as it turns out, the person wandering around the large pile of mats is none other than freshman student, Castiel.

The boy’s small, curious frown melts into an expression of outright shock when he picks up on what's happening. His mouth falls open and he raises his hands to cover it, letting go of the large sack of soccer balls he had been carrying. He frantically looks from Dean, to Anna, to the juncture at which they are meeting, and then back up to Dean. After a moment, he takes a staggering step backwards, face pale.

“Don’t move,” Dean growls.

At once, both Anna and Castiel freeze.

Wow. Um…

Well, he isn’t too sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t that.

Dean keeps his eyes locked on Castiel’s face, absorbing the trembling of his fingers and the shine of sweat on his forehead. Running his fingers down Anna’s spine, he says quietly to her,

“S’alright now. Keep goin’…”

She obeys, returning to her rhythm from before, mewling. Castiel’s knees buckle slightly and one of his hands reach out to grasp at the stack of safety mats next to him. He stares at Dean like a deer caught in headlights while the older teen pumps in and out, in and out…his hands stroking Anna’s pliant hips. Dean never breaks his gaze from St. Barnabus’ star child as he fucks into Anna slowly, sensually. To him, it looks as though Castiel is becoming unraveled against the mats. His expression is a strange blend of terror and…..shit, was that arousal? Dean’s eyes rove over the beading sweat on his neck, the flush high on his cheeks, the darkening of his eyes, and finally the tiny shaking in Castiel’s bent knees.

“You like it when I fuck your ass, baby?” Dean purrs to test the waters.

An odd hiccup-like sound leaves Castiel’s throat and Dean looks quickly down at Anna to see if she had noticed. She hadn’t, and it probably has something to do with the fact she's practically face down in the crunching plastic of the mat.

“My cock fills you up so good, doesn’t it?” he continues, looking back at Castiel while wrenching Anna’s ass towards him.

Anna moans into the mat and Castiel’s eyebrows practically hit the ceiling. He’s panting softly; both hands now white knuckling the edge of a mat. He seems tormented and Dean figures the kid’s hormones must be winning out against his enormously lofty morals. Sure enough, there is an outline in the pant leg of Castiel’s P.E. shorts and his erection is beginning to tent out the loose material. A pair juddering hands swoop down to cover the arousal up after Dean is caught looking at it.

But that’s okay.

Dean knows it is still there and that’s what really counts.

On the list of things that amuse him to no end, this situation is ranking pretty high. Here he is, fully dressed with only his cock out of his fly, plundering a fully nude and writhing cheerleading captain, with an audience of none other than his school’s golden boy; a stuck up, Christian virgin who's making voyeurs everywhere proud from the shadows in which he's lurking.

“Go ahead and touch yourself…” Dean croons, smirking at Castiel.

The boy frantically shakes his head, hands still hovering over his crotch defiantly. Dean nearly chuckles when Anna reaches down and starts playing with her clit.

“So sexy,” he whispers, finally breaking eye contact to bend forward and kiss his way up Anna’s back.

Apparently, that is all Castiel needed in order to tear out of the shed because he was gone in a silent rush by the time Dean leans back up.  
\--

 

Dean expected the next day to start with the Principal after the incident in the shed. He's already sporting new bruises alongside his ribs on the account of yesterday being “Thirsty Thursday” and his Dad actually managing to stumble his way home by 2:30. Dean could still smell the Jim Beam and stale cigar smoke on him in the morning when he passed by his old man unconscious on the couch. Last night, Dean had finally hit back and it was all he could do to hope—hope to high Heaven—that his Dad wouldn’t remember that part.

So naturally, this morning constituted to being a bad one already and he can only assume it would get worse. However, aside from the usual “YOU’RE SUCH A WHORE!” and “SLUTS BURN IN HELL” love letters he finds tumbling out of his locker, nothing else has happened. Well…

…aside from all the staring, of course.

Castiel Callaghan has hardly taken his eyes off of him the entire day. Unfortunately, they have a few classes together, so Dean had caught his gaze on him several times during each block. In the hallway, he had noticed Castiel staring at him from the space between two nearly shoulder to shoulder people. Then it had followed Dean down the hallway and watched while he drank from the water fountain. After that, Dean detected him staring in the cafeteria during lunch, while he flicked corn kernels at Sam from across the table.

All the staring was starting to become unsettling.

By the time final period comes around—Bible Study, no less—Dean feels picked apart and agitated by the pair of blue eyes that have been glued to him all day. He is shit out of luck though, because this is another class he shares with Castiel, and he is once again—surprise, surprise!—being stared at. The freshman to blame for this rises from his seat to stand at the front of the class, holding his crucifix necklace in one hand and his personal Bible in the other. He smiles gently and opens the book.

“As it is my turn to lead us in Devotions, I thought we might take this time to remind ourselves of God’s expectations of us,” he begins, fingering the corner of a sticky note inside his Bible. “In this increasingly immoral society, where sin and temptation beckon at every corner, I find it best to rely on the Holy Scripture to guide me safely through the world’s wickedness.”

The teacher beams over at Castiel and several students nod enthusiastically from their desks. Dean gags and scratches harder with his pen on his desk. They are instructed to pull out their Bibles, turn to book whatever, verse something…while Castiel forges onward with his lecture on purity and other bullcrap like it.

_“The acts of the sinful nature are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery; idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like. I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God.”_

Dean snorts at the word orgies, and the entire class glares at him. Castiel continues with a harsher voice,

_"That is why I say to run from sexual sin. No other sin affects the body as this one does. When you sin this sin, it is against your own body."_

At this, Dean glances up from his phallic doodles to meet Castiel’s piercing blue gaze. It only takes him a couple more seconds to realize that this entire lesson is just an enormous, passive-aggressive attack on Dean for yesterday’s transgressions.

He grins broadly.

Fuck, he loves pissing this kid off!

Naturally, after having received such a sweet sermon from Mr. High-Almighty, Dean only feels it right to respond in earnest. From his place in the back of the room, he smiles jovially and mimics the motion for a blow job, poking his cheek with his tongue for the _whole effect_. The Bible slips from Castiel’s hands and he fumbles momentarily, snagging it before it hits the ground. Clearing his throat, the tips of Castiel’s ears burn pink while he flips to find his correct page again. Dean just laughs into the crook of his arm.  
\--


	2. Chapter 2

It was after 5 o’clock the following day and Dean had finally finished tidying up all the chalk boards on the 2nd floor. Only one story to go and he’d be done for the week. Cleaning the chalkboards was one of his many punishments handed down by Father Callaghan after Dean had gone and snapped at one of his female peers last semester. It was in early Fall that Tracy Donovan, tossing her hair like a diva, had called him a dirty queer. She had also drawn it on his backpack in big curly letters with glitter-glue.

And so Dean, calmly and rationally as ever, had backed her flush against a locker and sneered into her ear,

“You’re one to talk, you muff diving cunt!”

Several months later and he was still scrubbing the chalkboards to pristine conditions on Friday afternoons for it. Fuck, he should just quit school and save his Uncle Bobby the tuition costs, because he sure as hell isn't worth the price.

Downstairs in the first floor music room—the same one where he had broken the window (also first semester)—Dean dunks his sponge into the soapy bucket and continues wiping away, water trickling down his forearms. He is lost in the task until the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen uncomfortably, signaling that he's being watched.

“What the fuck do you want, Castiel?” he snarls, not even bothering to turn around. He knows the kid is there without having to look. 

Dean pushes the sponge with more force than necessary back into the bucket and the water overflows onto his sneakers.

“Why must you always be so vulgar?” is the retort he receives, the voice slightly strained.

The older teen peeks over his shoulder to see Castiel moving across the room with a black case; a large, cello-shaped one. Neither of the boys attempt to talk further. After a minute of scraping and bumping noises, Castiel emerges victorious from the storage closet, his hair unkempt and shirt halfway un-tucked. He had evidently done battle with the musical instrument in order to get it put away. Fixing his school shirt and running his hand through his dark locks to tame them, Castiel then leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Dean breathes a sigh of relief in the restored quiet, broken up only by the ticking of the wall clock. The board on the south wall is now finished and he’s migrating over to the second one on the west wall when a rapping on the window garners his attention.

Black framed glasses…frosted hair…Ah, it's Tommy from the junior class. Dean goes to the window and opens it, letting in a flood of warm fresh air, mixed slightly with the scent of Tommy’s cologne.

“Hey gorgeous,” Dean greets, leaning over the window frame.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Tommy answers with a smile, reaching up and pulling Dean’s face down.

Oh yes, this is nice. Tommy’s kisses and cock-play sessions were always random but guaranteed fun. Their tongues entwine lazily and Dean relaxes into the kiss, burying his hand in Tommy’s hair. As they begin to make out a little more fervently, his fingers drop to Tommy’s tie, tugging it loose.

There’s an awkward squeak noise that forces Dean to break the kiss and swivel around, only to see Castiel standing in the doorway of the room, appearing horrendously flustered.

“Fuck!” Tommy curses, before turning tail and sprinting across the school yard. He disappears behind the Auditorium in a matter of seconds.

_“Jesus fucking Christ, you are such a goddamn cockblock!”_ shouts Dean, punching the wooden frame of the window he’s sitting in.

It takes several moments for Castiel to overcome the gratuitous blaspheme that Dean verbally vomited all over him. He stands there looking equal parts appalled and furious, mouth flapping like a dying fish. But when he seems to mentally pull himself together, his eyes close and he gets this small little crinkle of concentration on his brow. Under his breath, he's murmuring what has to be a prayer. Dean huffs and rolls his eyes, earning Castiel’s undivided consideration again.

“I can’t believe you—do you know what you just—you realize how sinful this is, right? Not only yesterday with Miss Anna Miller, but now with—it’s disgusting and it’s wrong and you must stop all this, Dean Winchester! You’re walking on a path of self-destruction!”

Castiel’s round face was flush with emotion and his developing voice had cracked a couple of times during his heated speech. Shrugging off everything that was just said to him, Dean peels some flaking paint from the window frame, asking,

“Why did you come back to the room anyway?”

Apparently, being blatantly ignored leaves Castiel astonished because he is slack jawed once again. Fidgeting, he rubs his hands down the front of his shirt and glances around the room.

“…I lost my button,” he mumbles, eyebrows knitting together irritably.

“You’re fucking joking…”

“Are you even capable of not cursing for two consecutive sentences?”

“Ouch Castiel, that’s some serious fuckin’ snark you’re packing.”

It is the freshman’s turn to roll his eyes, and he presses his fingertips to his temples, as though Dean is truly giving him the beginnings of a migraine. He breathes heavily through his nose and Dean imagines the guy might be counting backwards from 25 in order to take the edge off his anger.

All it took was a couple minutes after ambling over to the closet for Dean to locate the lost button, black and shiny, hidden under a loose piece of sheet music.

“Here,” he says, exiting the closet and tossing the button to Castiel.

The kid actually caught it, which spoke wonders for his reflexes.

“…thank you?”  
“No problem.”

Dean returns to his sponge and bucket. It is now 5:42pm and he can only conclude that he was never, ever, in all of eternity, going to get this chore done. His despair must show on his face because Castiel has stepped towards him, rolling up his sleeves.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dean demands, as the younger boy fishes around his bucket for the sponge.

“Watch your language,” scolds Castiel, holding up the found sponge like a prize. “I’m returning the favor.”

“Oh no you are not. Gimme that!” Dean rushes, snatching the sponge from Castiel’s hand.

“What's your problem, Dean Winchester?”

“Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester! Why do you talk like an alien, Cas? It’s just Dean, okay?”

The freshman issues another strange little squeak, quite similar to the one Dean heard when he and Tommy had been caught kissing. Dean glowers at him, wondering what he could have possibly done now to offend the kid. Well, besides just calling him an alien, that is.

“C....Cas? You…called me Cas,” came the soft murmur, paired with narrowed eyes and a minor tilt of the head.

The gesture is almost cute.  
Almost.

“No I didn’t.”

“Why are you lying to me?” Castiel asks in frustration, gesturing wildly. “You’re always like this!”

“Woah, now!” interrupts Dean. “That’s a pretty bold statement coming from a guy I barely know. You don’t know me so don’t judge me!”

“The duration of time doesn’t matter, Dean Winche—Dean. I know you lie and curse and fight and… fornicate. But what I don’t understand is why you don’t try harder to be like the rest of us. Just be good and normal…read and obey the scripture and—“

“And not suck cock while I’m at it?” Dean finishes coldly, wringing his sponge out over the bucket. Castiel makes a strangled noise and his face turns a rosy tint. He is easy to embarrass.

“It is a terrible sin,” Castiel agrees quietly, blue eyes staring sternly at Dean.

“That’s funny. Cuz’ every guy who’s had his prick in my mouth usually tells me how good it is.”  
Dean misses whatever expression he had managed to conjure out of the kid with that comment because he is back to rubbing down the chalkboard at a brutal pace. He wants this over and done with so he could go home to where his stolen bottle of Jack is waiting under his bed. His ribs are really starting to smart from getting kicked to shit by his Dad the night before and if there is one thing Dean can rely on, it is that good ol’ Jack always knows how to soften the blow…

“You shouldn’t indulge your unnatural lust,” Castiel grumbles from behind Dean.

“And pray tell, oh Holy one, what you deem as ‘unnatural lust’,” he mutters back, exuding sarcasm.

“Homosexuality...”

“Ah, of course.”

“But you could fight this!”

Dean turns around, not bothering to stop the sponge from dripping all over the floor.  
“What was that?” he barks.

“Y-You were with Anna! And even though you shouldn’t have fooled around with her either…at least it was a woman. It’s…normal! The whole school talks about you and what you do Dean. Doesn’t that bother you? You need to turn away from this lifestyle and repent for flaunting yourself to everybody and anybody that crosses your path!”

Dean laughs sharply, throwing back his head.

“Wait, so you think I’ll just fuck anyone?”

Castiel glares at his vernacular choice, but gradually nods.

“Well sorry but you’re wrong.”

Dean watches dark brows furrow with aggravation before finally adding, “Cuz’ there’s no way in hell I’d ever bang you.”

Something unpleasant flashes across Castiel’s eyes, that under different circumstances, Dean would only identify as hurt. But in this case, he has no idea what it was, and the emotion is gone before he can analyze it further. Castiel is back to scowling at him and in one sudden motion the sponge is seized and squeezed right over Dean’s head. Soapy chalk water runs down over the older teen’s face and slowly saturates the collar of his dress shirt.

“You…you……..assbutt!” Castiel snaps, which almost startles Dean as much as the sponge-attack had.

“Assbutt?!” he chokes, because somewhere in the midst of being furious, he’s also incredibly amused. “Don’t call me an assbutt because I have some standards!”

“S-Standards? As if you even know what standards are! Tommy Blake is trash. His grades are worse than yours and he snorts white powder between classes. Yet with him you’d—and he meets your so-called—?! You’re ridiculous!”

The fact that Castiel is angry enough to be spouting incomplete sentences should have been enough of a signal for Dean to back off. But his temper had been tweaked, so he just blazed on:

“Oh yeah? Well you may think Tommy is trash, but I happen to like the fact that he doesn’t have a giant cactus crammed up his ass! Unlike a certain religious zealot I know.”  
Dean pushes his wet bangs away from hanging in his eyes and flicks some of the excess water at Cas, who flinches.

“To whom are you referring…?” Castiel frowns, seeming genuinely confused. His nose crinkles when Dean flicks a second round of water at him. “I think you have terrible, misguided standards Dean…”

“And yet you still jerk off to me late at night, all snuggled up in your teddy bear jammies, so remind me again which one of us is more fucked up here.”

As if launched by a spring, Castiel is gone, having practically flown from the room. He slams the door so hard when he leaves that that the window drops shut and a few pieces of chalk fall to the floor and break.  
Dean is left standing alone, stupefied and still dripping water.  
\--

 

“Just so you know…I do not touch myself!” Castiel announces, head held high, as if this proclamation was the most natural way to start a conversation.

Dean hacks and coughs on the smoke he had been holding in, eyes watering. He disposes of the roach behind a nearby bush, while wiping his bloodshot eyes dry with his sleeve.

“W-What??” he croaks, his cushioned brain struggling to catch up to the dialogue.

It is Monday afternoon and post-lunch period; Dean is in the middle of skipping his Algebra II class in favor of getting high and sun bathing behind the old gym building.

“There was only one nocturnal emission and it was entirely out of my control,” Castiel insists, standing over Dean with a fierce grimace. “Ugh. What kind of cigarette was that? It really stinks…”

“Oh my God…” Dean groans, lying back down on the grass and covering his face with his hands.

“You shouldn’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” the freshman scolds, slowly lowering to sit cross legged on the grass a few feet from Dean.

“Fuck, you’re a nag. Just…just shut up for a second. Are you saying…you had a wet dream about me?!” Dean asks, his voice raising an octave in undisguised glee.

“No! No, I didn’t. You just……happened to be there,” pouts Castiel, hunching his shoulders defensively.  
At this confession, laughter rips from Dean’s throat and he pounds the dirt next to him with a balled fist.

“Oh my fucking God! You totally had a sex dream about me!”  
Castiel’s ears are burning bright red, even as his face twisted with loathing.

“I said I didn’t! And don’t you even care that you blaspheme on a regular basis?”

“Nope. Not at all. But I bet you care, gettin’ all hot and bothered on thoughts of me. The ‘bad boy’ thing must really do it for you,” Dean teases, eyes wrinkling in the corners as he smiles big.

“You’re so disgusting,” sneers Castiel in return.

“Yeah, yeah. You keep tellin’ yourself that. You just want what you can’t have.”

“E-Excuse me?”

Dean sits up and faces Castiel, who looks as if he’s trying to swallow a live bug. His full pink lips are pursed and there’s an angry flush across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. A tiny twitch in the younger teen’s jaw suggests he is forcibly grinding his teeth. Apparently Dean is getting very good at making Castiel lose his shit.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” he continues, tilting his face upwards into the sunlight. “The way you’re always staring at me, the way you pick on me to get my attention. Or how about when you almost creamed yourself watching me put my dick inside Anna. You want it so fucking bad.”

“Want what?” Castiel trills, wholly mortified by the direction their conversation was taking.

“Sex, Cas. Sex with me. Sex with this body,” Dean chortles, as his fingers playfully tickled their way down his own torso.

Initially, he really was only teasing to get a rise out of Castiel, but now Dean is starting to wonder if it was possibly true. The kid’s face is beet red and a nervous sweat has broken out along his skin. Not only that, but the toes of Castiel’s shoes are pointing inward as he seemingly attempts to curl in on himself; the guy is trying his utmost to become invisible and is failing. Dean may have found it a little cute if it were being done by anyone else, but no, this is Castiel; the Bible thumping, I’ve never been laid and I pray every day which makes me the perfect little Acolyte, kid. He had never missed a day of school or tasted alcohol beyond what was served during Communion, and even though Dean enjoys teasing him otherwise, he understood the guy had probably never masturbated in his life. The kid is so uptight, he probably begs for forgiveness every time he needs to touch his dick to take a piss. Yes, this is Castiel—Father Callaghan’s son—and he and his posse of Christian buddies have been the bane of Dean’s existence since entering high school last August.  
He could never be cute.

“You’re going to burn in Hell for all of this,” Castiel spoke softly, an edge of menace to his voice. “And don’t you ever dare to speak that filth to me again.”

Then he is striding away back towards the main building, leaving Dean utterly convinced.

Not cute at all.  
\--

Sam was gone at his girlfriend Jess’ house where they had scheduled a study session when Dean arrives home. To anyone else, study session would actually mean sexy-time, but he knows his brother and study session is meant to be taken literally. God, Sammy is good kid. His grades are superb, he's sweet, and he is utterly dedicated to having a big future. His girlfriend is also equally nice and smart, so they make a formidable couple. Even as eighth graders, they both already have plans to make it to Stanford.

Dean wishes he could meet someone compatible with him to that level. The chance of him finding that is meager however, since he is trapped in this shithole town, with his ugly school record and measly part-time job at the grocery store. The gravity of these thoughts weighs on Dean, and they continue to spiral him down until he feels depression creeping in around him. And shit, there isn't any Jack Daniels left. Vague stirrings of interest spring up in him though, when his gaze finds his Busty Asian Beauties DVD lying on the floor near his bed. Nothing serves as a better distraction than jerking off to a good porno, right? Sammy would be gone at Jess’ for a while more and there was no way his Dad would be home before midnight. Dean has several hours to himself. So as he’s popping the movie into his DVD-player, the last thing he’s expecting is knocks on his front door.

Frowning, he makes his way down the stairs, which are always obnoxiously loud once they’d swelled under humidity. There’s no way he can pretend he’s not home now, not after the chorus of pops and endless creaks. He’s at the bottom step when a second series of insistent knocking starts up. Dean makes it to the door and yanks it open only to blink, because Father Callaghan and Castiel are waiting on the other side. He tries not to notice Castiel’s instantaneous gaze and how it lingers, moving up his arms and over chest. He hadn’t bothered putting a t-shirt on. Whoops?

It wasn’t until an awkward silence consumes the space between him and his guests that Dean remembers how to use the shred of manners his Mother had left in him.

“Uh…hello Father Callaghan,” he mumbles, shifting his feet. “What brings you over?”

“Hello Dean. Is your Father home?” his Principal replies, smiling.

“Uh, no sir. He’s not,” answers Dean, not adding that his Dad was always at the bar by 5 o’clock on weekends.

“Well then, would you be opposed to hearing me out instead? Perhaps we could come inside?”

Perplexed, Dean nods and steps aside to allow the Callaghans to pass by. They enter the living room and the air immediately becomes palpable again with tension. Father Callaghan is taking in all the beer cans, empty pizza boxes, half-full cups, wadded up paper towels, and the rest of the crap strewn across the floor that none of the Winchesters bothered to pick up. Now, it wasn’t for lack of trying. Dean had attempted valiantly for years to keep the house clean and pick up after his Dad, but as he got older, his impatience and indifference towards the matter grew right along with him. Because really, it is an unending task and Sam for his part, lives mostly out of his room—which next to his brother’s—is the cleanest place in the house.

Castiel looks as if he is about to spontaneously combust. There's a gentle tremor distributed throughout his body and he doesn't appear to be breathing. Not that Dean blames him; the room does smell fairly awful. His green eyes shift knowingly to the mildew growing in the corner of the room. Fuck. That is going to need to be bleached out at some point.

“Uh…sorry for the mess?” Dean offers weakly, shrugging.

Something akin to a whimper escapes Castiel when he accidentally bumps into an empty whiskey bottle, sending it rolling away. Father Callaghan glares at him and his nephew looks ashamed for drawing attention to himself.

“Dean, please allow me to be frank. I’m here with Castiel today because I feel like you would benefit from having stronger Christian influences in your life. I know you struggle to maintain friendships at school and now you should be a senior student and yet you remain at the freshman grade level. I may be a little bias here, but Castiel here is an excellent Christian example, as well as a model student. I think some tutoring sessions will be necessary if we are going to manage to get you into the 10th grade next year…”

“No offense or whatever, I don't need any damn tutoring,” argues Dean, chest puffing out.

“Oh yes Mr. Winchester, I’m well aware. You are a very intelligent child; it’s your attendance that is abysmal and the fact you don’t ever turn in homework that has sunk your grades. All of those suspensions you’ve earned over the years haven’t helped either. I’m afraid I must admit that you’ve been skating on thin ice this year for expulsion,” Father Callaghan explains, moving over to the couch. He actually sits down on it, painting Dean impressed. That couch is repulsive and he avoids being near it whenever possible.

“As a solution, I was thinking for the rest of the semester, Castiel could be your study buddy of sorts. See, we live just down the road and you two could easily commute to school together. I realize I can’t order you to do this, but your attendance might improve if you were held accountable for a friend’s transportation. And it’s not just getting you to school I’m concerned about. The tutoring sessions I mentioned earlier would be Devotions, Dean. Castiel has kindly volunteered to start having personal meetings with you, to help you get in touch with your spirituality.”

“Are you serious?” Dean whines, whipping his head around towards Castiel. “You’re gonna be like…my religious Sponsor or some shit?”

“Language…” Castiel murmurs, nervously twisting a spare thread from his sweater around his finger. Dean glares at him.

Smiling once more, Father Callaghan gets up from the couch.

“If it helps you to think of it that way Dean, that’s fine. This is an intervention of sorts, after all.”  
He places a firm hand on top of Castiel’s shoulder, guiding his son back to the front door. As they make to leave, Father Callaghan glances over his shoulder at Dean to add one last thing:

“Although picking Castiel up for school would be entirely voluntary on your part, the Devotion sessions are not. If you’d like to make it to sophomore year, I expect you to participate in each and every meeting I assign for you and Castiel. Go do your homework now and have a good night, Dean.”

The front door closes with a muted click and there is no way of telling how long Dean stood there just staring unbelieving at the sun faded wood.  
\--

 

“Please focus,” Castiel says firmly, snapping his fingers in front of Dean’s face.  
The movement is enough to pull the older teen back from spacing out and he gives Castiel his grumpiest pout. They have been meeting up twice a week for his mandatory Devotions and Dean is sick of it.

“I hate this shit,” he complains.  
Castiel sighs, setting his Bible to the side. Out of his backpack, he digs up a notebook and pen and hands them to Dean.

“50 lines,” he hums, wiggling the pen.

“FIFTY? Are you kidding me, Cas?!”

“It was 25 lines for the first time you cursed. Now it is 50 lines. Next time it will be 75.”

“Fuc—fudge monkeys,” grouses Dean, slouching over the notebook where he had already written 25 lines of **I WILL NOT SWEAR OR UTTER OBSCENITIES.**

The closest thing he has ever seen to a smile breaks across Castiel’s face, making his expression warmer by several degrees. Secretly, seeing this makes Dean a little less unhappy about having to fill up the rest of the page with promises not to curse. A content silence settles in around them and they bask in it for several minutes. He’s on line thirty-seven before Castiel begins reading out loud from his Bible again.  
\--

This is definitely not the prologue of ‘Smartest Things I’ve Done’, a novel by Dean Winchester. But somehow he can’t bring himself to care. He is on his knees in the gym locker room with Benny Something-or-Other’s cock in his mouth and even with the condom, the sensation is divine. He hadn’t been laid since Anna and it had been an even longer dry spell since he'd really played with a boy. So he opens wide and lets Ben slide in, hard and thick.

Dean’s lips stretch to accommodate as he slowly bobs his head down onto the length. Above him Benny is almost silent, which was a crying shame considering that he has a rather attractive Louisiana accent. Benny is a member of the basketball team and if memory serves right, the guy on more than one occasion played wallflower in a group of jocks that threw homophobic slurs at Dean. But here in the locker room with his mouth on Benny’s dick, Dean is the one with all the power.

He swirls his tongue around the swollen head, before offering a tiny suck and quick dive back down to the base. He’s had a lot of practice swallowing men whole over the years and Point Guard Benny isn’t presenting any challenge. His fingers grip the bottom of the cock he is mouthing, holding it in place as he goes to town pressing his tongue along the shaft. Here and there, he bears down with his lips in a tighter ring, just to give it the right amount of pull as he rises back up.

The blowjob is over more quickly than he would prefer. Benny comes only a couple of minutes into it, before Dean can even think about taking out his own dick. The used condom is tied and tossed in a nearby waste bin, carefully covered up with some paper towels. Benny never says a word as he leaves the locker room but there's a warning in his eye:

You tell, I’ll kill you.  
\--

 

FAGGOT is scribbled on Dean’s school locker the following morning and he sighs. His classmates had given him the stink eye since he walked into the building and it seemed like a little extra venom had been laced into their typical trash talk so far. Okay, so it turns out blowing Benny might have been a bigger mistake than he’d originally thought. 

He is in the middle of attempting to scrub off the graffiti with Windex stolen from the janitor’s closet when Castiel approaches him.

“Is it true Dean?” he asks coldly before biting his lip.

Green eyes flick down to where Cas’s teeth are making a dimple in his supple pink flesh.

“Is what true?” Dean counters tiredly, giving one last scrub in hopes of lightening the lettering. Nope, no good.

“Maybe…this would best be discussed during our Devotions today…” responds Castiel hesitantly, glancing around.

They are openly being stared at. Dean is used to it, but the negative attention seems to unnerve the younger freshman. He shouldn’t be too concerned in Dean’s opinion, since the entire school is well aware of their ‘tutoring’ arrangement. But then again, a lot of Christians around here do seem to think gayness is a contagion.

“Sure dude. Whatever,” mutters Dean, abandoning his locker in favor of plucking out his car keys.

 

Behind the wheel of his 1967 Chevy Impala, Dean feels relaxed for the first time since he got up for the day. Unfortunately, he has Castiel Callaghan in his passenger seat, looking pissy about them cutting school and ready to ruin his mood.  
And sure enough…

“Did you perform oral services for a male peer yesterday?” he queries dryly, shoulders squared and pushed back.

Dean huffs.  
Castiel always spoke in this bizarre, perpetual formality that irked him to no end. Seriously, no one could ask ‘did you fucking give head?’ in a classier way than this guy.

“How the hell does it get around so fast?”

Castiel’s posture becomes undeniably rigid at his reply and those blue eyes of his burn with fury. He must be upset by Dean’s total lack of denial because there is no following threat of writing lines given, despite the usage of curse words. The atmosphere in the car grows stale and unforgiving as the teens ride on in silence.

“And what standards did you go by this time?” quips Castiel angrily, once they’ve reached a stoplight.

“Hmm…well, I think this time it was the, ‘if I say please, will you get down and suck my dick Dean? ’ploy. I’m a real sucker for manners, after all.”

His hands grasp tighter on the wheel as resentment rekindles inside him.

“And that fact that you’re unmarried, underage, and performing sinful acts on a person of the same gender doesn’t bother you at all?”

“Nope! Because guess what? None of it matters!” snarls Dean.

“But it does matter, Dean! It matters more than anything!” Castiel argues, straining under his seatbelt.

“Don’t you dare fucking start on all your Heavenly Kingdom bullshit Cas, cuz’ I don’t wanna fucking hear it today, okay? I don’t give one damn about getting into Heaven, because you know what? I don’t think it’s really up there! I believe in what I can see and touch, right in front of me. And let me tell you something, sex is the best piece of Heaven any of us is going to get!”

Castiel is rendered into stunned silence at this proclamation. His spirit seems to deflate and he slumps down in his seat. Gradually, an expression of sheer misery washes over his face before he raises his hands up to hide it. Dean is almost beginning to worry that he might have made the guy cry when in a weak voice Castiel protests,

“Heaven exists and sex isn’t worth sacrificing your immortal soul for....”

“You’re a virgin who’s never even masturbated before. Cas, you don’t understand what you're preaching against so you don’t get to lecture me on this one,” Dean says gruffly, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t need to look to know that his passenger’s cheeks are turning tomato red now.

“Sins of the flesh are meant to be tempting Dean, but God asks us to resist them…”

“Goddamn, you’re like a broken record player.”

“That is because you are a poor listener.”

“Actually, I’m hearing you loud and clear. But all I’m getting is, ‘Help! I’m horny!’”  
Castiel sinks lower in his seat and hides behind his hands once more.

 

“Look, if you want fucked Cas, just ask.”

 

Blue eyes fly open and stare at Dean.

“…but you said you would never have intercourse with me…”

 

“Not me, you idiot! Just somebody!” Dean squawks, embarrassed. “With your pretty face and popularity, getting some action should be easy.”

It's Dean’s turn to blush and his palms begin to sweat. He should just crawl into a hole and die now, because he is talking himself into dangerous territory. Sex, Castiel, and his pretty face should never enter the context of a conversation together, like ever. Dean swallows, flexing his fingers and inhaling deep. Cas is still staring at him, unblinkingly.

“You think my face is pretty?”

And there it is.

The topic Castiel should have dropped and what Dean just should have never brought up in the first place.

“We are _so_ not talking about this Cas,” answers Dean tersely.

“Why? You discuss everything else so openly. Like...‘f-fucking’ and ‘masturbating’. Is giving me a compliment truly so troubling?”

Somehow when Castiel says dirty words, he makes them seem innocent, as though he and Dean were discussing gardening or what was shown on QVC the night before. Truth be told, Dean isn’t entirely sure how to respond to his question. Sure, he's always up for giving out a compliment, especially when the person deserves one. But this is Castiel, and for all the surprised sweetness his face holds now, he is also the person who had relentlessly criticized Dean and his lifestyle for months.

“Cas, just…let it go, okay?

Another hush falls over them, persisting until they reach the edge of town. This is where the boys turn down the gravel road that would take them to their houses. It's not until Dean believes his conversational landmine is settled and forgotten that Castiel speaks up again.

“Do they really only have to ask for it?” The question seems so random that Dean is caught off-guard.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your standards, Dean. Do they really only need to ask you to comply in order for you to… **Do It?** ”

Oh. They had come back to **this**. The older teen sighs, using one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose briefly. The way Castiel had worded it has him feeling awkward and scummy about his hookups and that is a problem. Dean doesn’t reflect on the things he does. He just does them, enjoys them, and moves on. Sex is mutually beneficial—he is getting something out of it too. It's not as though he's some sex version of an ATM; open for business for whenever someone needed a withdrawal. No, he’d done his fair share of inviting, as well as rejecting. Though admittedly, the ratio between those two does lean strongly to one side…

His pride is screaming at him to get defensive and yet, somehow, Dean caves. Agrees. Shrugs.

“…um yeah. That’s pretty much how it goes.”

Next to him, Castiel shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Your lack of self-respect is abhorrent.”

A pathetic little scream leaves Castiel when Dean yanks the wheel of the Impala harshly, peeling them off the road and out onto the shoulder. He drives them up into a small dirt path made by a local farmer and slams the car into park. As Dean unbuckles his seat belt, he twists to face his panicked passenger, fuming.

“Enough! I’m done, Cas.” He starts, voice stony. “I’m done with lectures and I’m done being judged by you for things I couldn’t care less about. That means no more corrections, or lines, or fuckin’ tutoring sessions. I am done with all of it.”

I’m done with you he nearly adds, but finds that he can’t.

Castiel’s blue eyes are large and shining. His cheeks have paled considerably and his hands are still clenched around his seat belt from when he had grabbed it in terror. He visibly swallows, his small adams apple bobbing.

“…please…” Cas whispers meekly. What he’s asking for, he doesn’t seem to know, because he looks a little startled after saying it.

Dean’s mouth is on his before anything else gets said. There’s a flinch from Castiel and Dean pulls back, his eyes open and searching.

“Do you want to have sex with me Cas?” he asks bluntly, already working the buttons of his own uniform open.

“B-But you said—”

“I know what I said. But I’m asking you now. Do you want to have sex?”

Castiel doesn’t answer. His fingers slowly rise to touch his lips and those stunning blue eyes of his are locked onto the patch of sun kissed skin that Dean has revealed. The white shirt is half-open, and as if not to frighten him, Dean cautiously pulls Cas’ hand away from his mouth to place it on his chest. There is an audible gasp from the brunette and fingers scrape against warm flesh.

“It’s okay Cas…” Dean urges. “It’s okay.”

The boy sitting shotgun is shaking.

“..…I can’t. I don’t—” he chokes. His quaking fingertips brush over a pert nipple and a nail snags it, eliciting a soft moan from the older teen.

“Dean.”

“Shut up Cas.”

He’s unclipping Castiel’s seatbelt and ushering him between the seats, towards the back. There’s a lot of awkward fumbling but both boys make it. They sit there just staring at one another and breathing unevenly for a solid thirty seconds. Dean’s not positive on who moves first, but suddenly they’re attached at the mouth again. Castiel is kissing him fiercely; it’s sloppy and urgent and making Dean’s head spin. His lips slide over and over against Dean’s, pressing and pushing. The shirt Dean is wearing is shed and that leaves him free to pick at the buttons of Cas’ uniform, popping them loose. He’s only finished a few before Cas’ tongue down his throat distracts him. The kid obviously only has a vague idea of what he should be doing with it but Dean's more than willing to cup his face, soften his own mouth, and show Castiel exactly what can be done with a tongue.

Moaning fills the car, and it’s mostly from Cas, who has effectively been turned to putty by Dean’s frenching. His hands are everywhere, passing over Dean’s shoulder blades and down his back, only to swoop around and claw up his toned stomach. They break off the kiss and Dean can pinpoint the exact second Castiel wavers about what they’re doing; it starts as a subtle downturn of his lips and ends with his gaze hardening.

“I hate you…” he utters, despair overtaking his expression.

“I know,” replies Dean, placing small kisses down the side of Castiel’s face.

“I really hate you Dean Winchester,” he repeats, his voice soft while his nails are digging half-circles into  
Dean’s biceps.

“Show me…” Dean antagonizes, nibbling at his earlobe.

Dean is shoved away and he watches as Castiel tears off his own tie and shirt, throwing them down onto the floorboards. The khaki slacks are next and when Cas is sitting in front of him wearing only briefs and a pair of black socks, Dean moves in to kiss him. He is a little surprised when he’s pushed away again. Cas has an angry flush on his cheeks that’s slowly spreading down to his neck. The kid always colors when he’s mad, but this is the first time Dean considers it to be a turn-on. In a flash, he reaches out and grabs Castiel, hauling him forward. Their bare skin meets and someone groans. Teeth drag along collar bones, necks, and jaws, leaving behind red abrasions. Then Cas is carving his nails into the skin stretched over Dean’s hipbones, making him arch up off the seat.

“Fuck…” Dean moans.

Strong, unforgiving hands knock him down into the leather seat, forcing the air out of Dean’s lungs.

“I hate your filthy mouth,” hisses Cas, bringing their lips smashing together for another intoxicating kiss.

Dean groans and responds by pushing up his thigh into the other boy’s crotch, rubbing against the hardness he finds there. He wraps an arm snuggly around the small of Castiel’s back and manages to flip them around in the cramped backseat. Cas stares up at Dean with a fire blazing hot behind his eyes and his lip curls. “You let anyone touch you and I despise this also.”

“You’re just jealous,” jokes Dean as he licks a wet stripe up the side of Castiel’s neck. He presses his hips down harshly and the boy jerks, silently shuddering under him. After a moment, Cas seems to find his voice again. It’s a little wrecked and deeper than normal.

“I am. I am jealous Dean,” he admits brokenly.

The older teen pulls away in shock and glances down Castiel. The front of his underwear is soaked through on one side, milky-white fluid spilling through the material.

“You came?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” snaps Castiel, blood rushing back up to his face.

“Virgins,” Dean laughs, but he’s still reeling internally from Castiel’s admission of jealousy.

“Shut up Dean!”

Castiel’s scrabbling fingers find the buttons of his pants and he snaps them open. The sound of the zipper being pulled down is abnormally loud to Dean’s ears and he swallows thickly at the frog lodged in his throat. He has this creeping sensation that he’s about to panic outright and bolt. And maybe, just maybe, that’s because he shouldn’t be doing this. Really, thinking about it now, he should definitely dump Castiel at his place, drive straight home, jerk off frantically to some Asian hotties, and then drink himself into a stupor on his Dad’s piss beer. Because this—this right here—this should not be happening.

Sometimes Dean wonders if Cas can read his mind because he’s now glowering at him ferociously through a fringe of dark bangs, as if Dean had just broadcasted all his thoughts out loud.

“What? I don’t meet your standards?” he challenges, and Dean watches that unidentifiable emotion skirt across Cas’ pretty face again. He wants to chase it and pin it down.

“I told you that you didn’t,” Dean reminds him in a low voice, running a calloused hand along Cas’ side.

 _You might be too good for me_ , he thinks

“Then why are we—?”

Castiel cuts his sentence short, eyes narrowing at Dean in irritation while his arms cross self-consciously. He’s sulking and it’s annoying as hell but somehow adorable, so Dean is kissing him again, biting and plunging past his open lips. Cas’ hands weave into his dirty blonde hair, yanking. In the midst of desperate kissing, the boys strip their underwear off—Dean’s going to have scratches everywhere from Cas’ damn fingernails—and they fling the last of their clothing carelessly out of the way. When Dean goes down on him, Cas’ half hard penis quickly begins to fill again and swell inside his mouth.

“D-Dean,” he gasps, jolting against the seat.

“How does it feel?” Dean murmurs, pulling away and licking his lips. His fingers are tugging lightly on Castiel’s erection. “You like having my ‘filthy mouth’ on you? But this is pretty fucking sinful. Maybe I should stop?”

He gives one last teasing swipe with his tongue before sitting up and stretching. Below him, Castiel looks as if he’s instantly thought up one-hundred different ways to murder Dean. Heated eyes trace invisible lines all the way down his tanned body, halting none too subtly on Dean's cock. Dean grabs himself to test Castiel’s reaction, jacking slowly. He’s surprised at the little purr that rumbles up out of the kid’s throat.

“Wow. Um…that’s quite different from the last time.”

“…if you are referring to that humiliating incident in the supply shed, then you are right.”

“Why’s that?”

Dean is ignored and there is a hand replacing his, pulling him experimentally. Everything from the grip, to the pace in which he is being stroked, is wrong. Yeah, it is perfectly apparent now that the kid has definitely never touched himself before, because this attempt at a handjob is pathetic. Sweet yes, eager sure…but ultimately, downright terrible.

“Dude you suck,” Dean complains, crooking one brow up.

He’s shoved unceremoniously off of Castiel and ends up sprawled across the seat.

“Then let’s stop with all these pretenses and just get on with it,” Cas growls. “Do you have lubricant?”

Normally Dean wouldn’t choke on his own spit at such a statement, but the guy currently making demands about lube is also Vice President of their school’s Abstinence Club.

“How do you even know about that stuff?” asks Dean, almost smiling when he receives a nasty glare.

“I’m a virgin Dean, not an idiot. I understand the mechanics required for anal sex.”

Well now, if that just isn’t the sexiest foreplay chat Dean has ever experienced, then what was?

He maneuvers between the seats to open up his glove compartment. Inside there’s his registration and insurance paperwork, a hunting knife, a few condoms, and a small bottle of cheap lube. He snatches up a rubber and the lube, returning to Cas, who—despite his attempts to be discreet—had been checking out Dean's ass while he rummaged around the glove box.

Clear, slippery liquid pours out onto Dean’s fingers when he tips over the bottle and he coats them liberally. Castiel eyes the bottle warily but lies down on the back seat, waiting for Dean to find a place to settle comfortably between his legs. It isn’t until one of his legs is placed over Dean’s shoulder and slick fingers are lowering down that Castiel starts frowning heavily, head tilting to the side.

“What are you doing?” he croaks, blocking Dean’s hand from going any further.

“I thought you said you understood the ‘mechanics’, Cas,” answers Dean, gently nudging the offending hand out of his way.

“I thought only your penis needed the lubricant.”

“Ah...not exactly. You gotta be stretched if you expect me to fit without hurting you.”

Pink floods rapidly into Castiel’s cheeks as he digests this new information.

 

“I don’t want to be stretched Dean.”  
Dean gapes at him, unsure how to respond to that one. After a pause, he ends up trying,

“…fingering feels good...?”

Castiel seems to consider it and he wiggles his hips anxiously.

“Y-You’ll stop if I ask you to, right?”

“Definitely,” Dean assures, turning to sink his teeth into the flesh of Castiel’s calf, which is resting near his ear. This earns him a small shudder.

Cool, wet fingertips find the dip inside Castiel’s cleft and they lightly stroke the area, waiting for the kid to relax. When Dean feels like they’re both ready, he pushes his first finger inside up to the second knuckle before Cas is bearing down on him, teeth clenched.

“Just breathe Cas. Trust me, if I go deeper…I can show you what makes this so damn good.”

There’s a big inhale and Dean can feel the muscles of the leg against his shoulder ease up. He pushes the remaining length of his finger in and then slides it back out. Cas’ breathing goes oddly ragged and he stares up at Dean with a look of uncertain wonder. The motion is repeated…and repeated…and repeated.

“That’s just the beginning. It gets even better,” Dean promises, flashing Cas a crooked grin.

He swaps fingers, slipping his middle one inside. It was longer and he impales Cas slowly with it. It’s buried to the hilt inside when Dean curls it upward, searching for—

“Oh!”

Castiel is up on his elbows, gasping.

Bingo.

Dean rubs against Cas’ sweet spot again, enjoying how the boy’s muscles seem to give out and collapse now. He’s groaning loudly and his head is thrown back. Both of their erections which had waned some initially are becoming engorged again.

“D-Dean…!” Castiel pants, eyes fluttering closed.

The older teen has worked two fingers inside him now, pushing Cas open and brushing over his prostate whenever he can. He finds it rewarding seeing Castiel’s shudders and his hard cock bobbing against his belly. He observes a small dribble of come trickle down into the nest of the dark curls below. The boy uttering Dean’s name like a mantra under his breath, biting his lip and grasping hopelessly at the leather seat. But the crinkling of foil returns Castiel's focus sharply back to Dean, who’s slowly rolling a condom down his cock now.

“..we shouldn’t be doing this…” Cas whispers, even as one trembling palm cups Dean’s shoulder tightly.

“Shouldn’t or won’t?” Dean inquires, shifting over Castiel to line up with his hole.

“…shouldn’t,” is murmured into Dean’s ear and the word chases a small shiver down his spine.

Cas is breached in increments and the fingers of his spare hand scramble back up into Dean’s sandy colored hair. There are a couple more small movements and then he’s sinking the rest of the way inside.

“…oh God…”

For a second, Dean almost thinks he’s the one who said it, but then it’s tearing out of Castiel’s bared throat again. Lips slam against Dean’s with enough force to possibly draw blood, drawing out a groan from deep within him. A tongue, soft and slick, passes into his mouth, pressing against any surface it meets. It’s the same kind of hot, messy kiss Castiel gave him earlier when they’d first tumbled into the backseat. It is this kind of kiss that sets Dean nerves ablaze.

His hand slams against the window above them, smearing the condensation building there as he braces himself above Castiel. He’s thrusting into him roughly and some part of Dean knows he should ease up, but he can’t seem to isolate his attraction from his frustrations. Undulating below him is an intolerant, inconsistent, injudicious boy who says he hates Dean and kisses him the same breath; he’s contradiction personified, hypocritical, and completely infuriating. So Dean directs all this resentment into fucking him apart inside the Impala. If he can split him open this way and expose him, then maybe Dean could see inside and learn who Cas really is?

Castiel's mouth hanging open and his eyes are screwed shut. His panting comes out hot and heady as he curls up, accepting every aggressive buck of Dean’s hips. Each individual puff of air dances across Dean’s damp skin and he feels every time it increases, hitches, wheezes, or stops altogether. His heart leaps in surprise every time he hears his name caught up in a gasp.

_Don’t say my name like that Cas. Jesus Christ._

He doesn’t want to hear Cas call for him that way; he doesn’t want his name to sound so endearing. So Dean impels his hips to move harder, hoping that pain will chase away the intimacy that is dangerously close to seeding itself between them. But if nothing else, Cas is only moaning louder and his grip on Dean increases.  
The blend of pain and pleasure—and possibly also the fact he is doing something 'sinful'—seems to bring Castiel closer to the edge. Dean can see the telltale signs in the boy’s body, as he begins to clench and constrict and—

“Touch yourself Cas.”

A whimper escapes Castiel and he gnaws on his lip again, somehow still managing to look indignant with his debauched hair and flushed cheeks. Blue eyes drift down to assess his aroused body, his own leaking cock sandwiched against their stomachs, and hesitantly—very hesitantly—he slips his hand from Dean’s hair.

“Yeah...stroke that pretty cock for me,” encourages Dean, lifting himself up higher so he can watch.

Cas' shaking hand folds around himself for the first time and then he’s pulsing and milking himself through his climax with clumsy fingers. Dean is enthralled by the blissful cry that falls unbidden from swollen lips and the way Cas’ legs cling to his waist as he rides the waves of his orgasm. Undone and lost under him, Castiel is devastatingly beautiful.

Oh.

Damn.

Dean only needs to rock into him a few more times before he’s losing it. He hunches over Cas and fills the condom, grunting and convulsing. By the time the white clears from the periphery of his vision and he opens his eyes to peer down at Cas, his chest is heaving and sweat is trickling down his nose. He watches a drop of it fall and hit the forehead of the boy below him. Time apparently has stopped all normal function, because Dean watches for an eternity as it slowly rolls off to one side and soaks into Castiel’s disheveled bangs.

“Dean…”

Cas shifts below him and it wasn’t until he felt the strange tug on the skin of his left shoulder that Dean realizes Cas had never let go of holding him there the entire time. He glances over and sees a red imprint left behind by the hand that had clutched him.

 

He idly wonders if it will bruise tomorrow.  
\--  
fin


End file.
